The burden of decision had been transferred. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. . She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. Charcoal. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. “It may be her salvation. “It’s okay Lucy.
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